An Impressive Disaster
by WereMakingHistory
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was viewed in three distinct ways: 1) The kid from that viral video two years ago 2) A foster kid who always found his way into trouble 3) Someone who was going to be somebody someday. Then, he garners the attention of Senator Washington, who came into frame with perception number 4: A brilliant fifteen-year-old who needed to catch a break. *Sunday Updates*
1. Make Lemonade

Alexander's mother had always sought to teach him to make the best of things. In this respect, she had led by example, always ready to spin a rotten situation into something fantastic and new.

Power outages were a frequent foe in Alexander's childhood. One night, upon coaxing him out from under the bed, his mother had decided it was time for a flashlight puppet show. Soon, flickering lights sent Alex giddily running to the sock drawer.

Money was always a problem: not just for their little family. The community existed in perpetual poverty. The nearest bookshop was an hour away. Nonetheless, Alexander's mother spent any nickel she had to spare on books. But it was never enough. By the time he was nine, he'd read through every bit of text in their town, and owned a handsome collection of paperbacks to boot. Knowing she had a brilliant child, and couldn't provide the intellectual nourishment he needed, killed her. But she had him write instead. Every evening, she returned home with a pile of newspapers and found her son furiously writing responses to the previous day's stash. She worked in a diner near the airport: it was horrid, thankless work. The patrons never left tips, but as they rushed to catch their flights, they often left their papers.

Never allowing her son to miss a meal on her accord kept Miss Faucette plowing on. They never had enough money to fill the cupboards, but Alexander's mother wouldn't have him go hungry. She brought home stale pastries and took him on berry gathering adventures.  
Their world had reeked of want: Alexander's mother had been clawing him a way out. He was hungry, and she thought the world deserved. No, needed, his mind.  
Then, when Alexander was eleven years old, he lay in bed, emerging from the flu just soon enough to watch with all his wits about, as it devoured his mother.  
She withered away, uttering her last words days before she died: "The world needs you legions more than me"

The events that followed his Mother's passing led Alexander to the conclusion that, for once she had been wrong. The world didn't need him. It seemed to have regretted sparing his life and was making every effort to remedy the error.  
But the debater in Alex knew that he had survived two guardians and a deadly storm. If the world really wanted him dead, it was doing a crummy job.

The storm was historic: there wasn't a city left on the island that hadn't been reduced water damaged ruins. It killed hundreds, injured thousands, and tore families apart. By that point, Alex had nothing but a small library to his name. Hurricane Irma whisked that away as well. The books were swept up like birds and flew to watery deaths in the floodwater. He clung to the one he truly needed and went back under the bed like he had as a child, emerging into a nightmare.

Aid did not arrive for two days. In that time, four people in the town died. Alexander concluded his mother must have been wrong: storms were scary, she should have eaten too, things were not okay.

Aid workers set up tents, but not enough, so even in torrential downpours, they had to queue up outside for half the wait.  
Alex was just one among hundreds, all tired, and hungry, and drenched, waiting for:  
-one water bottle  
-one granola bar  
-one apple/other fruit  
-one small first aid kit

He reached the tent and a temporary reprieve from the rain. The spark in his soul was waning when he saw a man with styled hair, and a sports coat out slip into the makeshift structure, and close his umbrella. He tapped the water off and began scanning through the crowd, sticking to the wall until he spotted a relief worker. Alexander stepped out of line and looked towards her. That man was a producer.  
What was the point of a tropical storm if one couldn't use it as a platform?

The aid worker met Alexander's gaze. He was a bit short, and a bit thin, but with chubby cheeks, and life in his eyes. She said something to the well-dressed man, then left him at the far edge of the tent. She approached Alexander, and he eagerly met her halfway.

And so it came to be, that one 13-year-old Alexander Hamilton was broadcast into the homes of a few hundred in Northern Oregon, and subsequently shared over a million times on Facebook.

The wind was blowing rain diagonally; the young reporter's umbrella offered little protection. Behind them was a flattened town.  
3, 2, 1:  
"Welcome back to North-On News at 9: I'm here on Nevis with Alexander Hamilton, a local boy whose home was destroyed by Hurricane Erma. Alexander, I hear that you've been getting a lot of help from the American government. Care to tell the folks at home how their tax dollars are being used?"

She had a big smile plastered on her face.  
And then Alex opened his mouth. The 13-year-old delivered a scathing indictment of the American Congress, calling their relief funding "inadequate" and a, "poorly conceived publicity stunt that did nothing to prevent the need for such emergency aid in the future"

But, what really sealed the deal was not the big words or the comedically expressive look of confusion on the poor anchor's face (her fluff piece; how had they picked this kid for her fluff piece?), but the fact that Alex had begun his criticism as such:  
"I would suggest that any congressmen watching take notes"

This was the line that became a headline, and the title of video clips. Alexander Hamilton had successfully made political-ideology-dispersal lemonade, out of hurricane lemons. He was viral, and internally, had to apologize to his mother: she was wiser than he'd been able to know.

The fanfare lasted for nearly a month. This was just long enough for CNN to track "That Alexander kid" down for another interview. People had begun to question his motives, and ask whether he was worth listening to. Alexander considered the partisan attacks waged against him to be slander. He was given a chance to defend himself and doubled down on every statement he had made. Alexander also revealed that he wanted to go to America. There had been accusations that he hated the country. On live television, he insisted that he thought it was a great, but mismanaged country.

Then, a new breaking news story hit, and Alexander Hamilton disappeared. Behind the scenes, a few dozen families had requested to adopt him. Each had their own agenda.

Alexander had made it to America, and the world which had briefly been taken by the young boy with a big mouth and a little ponytail was left in the dark.

The dark was a horrid place to be. Alexanders new family fell through. They had used a Facebook group to 'rehome' him. When that family attempted to register him for school, the police were called in.

Alexander's American dream had fallen to pieces. For the next two years, he was shuffled around endlessly, and try as he might, some nights it was impossible to believe that staying on Nevis would have been a worse fate.


	2. Speak of the Devil (and he shall appear)

It was a curious thing: receiving a letter from Alexander Hamilton. Stranger still? Arriving at work to find that every senior senator had been sent their own, along with a handful of junior senators.

After comparing notes, George Washington and his colleagues came to realize that each letter was individually drafted. With a glance across the aisle, he concluded that the same was true for the Republicans. Of course, the fact that any individual senator had found a letter remarkable enough show to a colleague was a feat, but a single person writing sixty letters, each of which is remarkable enough to be shared in their own right, in under a week? Astounding.

Each one read a bit like a school progress report. Hamilton had quoted speeches, questioned absences, and reminded senators of the promises they'd forgotten. Rarely was there a compliment. Feeling proud to find one nice bit buried within a scathing indictment penned by a young teen seemed wrong, but many were nonetheless.

The letters all began the same way:

Dear Sir,  
My name was slandered in this Congress just a week ago. I happened to be watching C-span when Senator Rush found it appropriate -in discussing a bill put forward by the junior senator from Connecticut in collaboration with Girl Scout Troop 2766- to remind you all of the impact my words had been given in the drafting of an aid bill not two years ago.  
"Do I have to remind you all about that Hamilton kid? The Democrats practically fell over trying to make his incoherent rambling into a bill. And where did that get us? Nowhere. We shouldn't be listening to children."  
To senator Rush: This statement is unequivocally false. I suggest you buy a dictionary.  
I have sent a memo to your local news station outlining each time that you came upon an uncomfortable situation; one in which you were outmatched, and chose to project your own ignorance onto the other party.  
You will find a list of definitions enclosed with your letter. I have assumed that the rest of you are capable of looking up any words you do not know.

From this point, they diverged. To the frustration of many, every punch Alexander threw was fair. There wasn't much anyone could say to counter:  
"we had to compromise",  
" it was a long week",  
"I was really tired when I said we should tax the sun"

Washington was impressed. He gave his letter another glance just before the session began.

I have provided an email address where you can reach me for clarification. I would be happy to help you understand any problems discussed above.

It appeared that Alexander Hamilton was every bit as spirited as he'd been the day the aforementioned video was filmed. Washington had wondered about him- but the instant a new news story came up, the young boy had vanished.

* * *

Alexander Hamilton didn't get around to checking his email for a few days. He was staying in a group home, didn't have a laptop, and his phone didn't connect to wifi. Put simply; the universe had conspired to keep him from doing much of anything productive.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been at the library every day anyway, but a boy in one of his classes had wanted to argue: Alex did not throw the first physical punch. He'd simply used a few carefully chosen words, and because his opponent was a caveman, rather than getting a rebuttal, Alex had been kneed in the abdomen. He'd had a few more carefully chosen words for the staff when they'd put him on lock-in for punching back. They hadn't been happy, he hadn't been happy. The result was a miserable two weeks wherein Alex had entirely too much time to think. He was not doing well. He was almost forced to deal with his emotions, and then he caught a few minutes of C-span. Once he'd heard those remarks, the emptiness of the previous days evaporated: replaced eagerly by the consuming desire to choose more than a few careful words for each senator.

But, Alex didn't expect to hear back from any of them: elected officials weren't exactly known for their gracious acceptance of criticism. But, he could hope at least a few would learn something. That's why he'd written them all; senator Rush bringing up the news clip was the final straw, but he'd been watching C-span. They'd been goofing around like petulant children for months.

But, Alex didn't expect to hear back from any of them: elected officials weren't exactly known for their gracious acceptance of criticism. But, he could hope at least a few would learn something. That's why he'd written them all; senator Rush bringing up the news clip was the final straw, but he'd been watching C-span. They'd been goofing around like petulant children for months.

When he'd showed up to the post office with sixty letters (a risky stop on the way to school that no one caught) the clerk had been a bit vexed. He purchased fifteen dollars worth of stamps (which nearly cleared him out), and told her that he'd been encouraged to write his senator: but as a resident of DC, he didn't have one, so he had settled for writing at least one from every state.  
The look she'd given him was priceless.

Finally, the day came where Alex didn't need to be in his room in that house within fifteen minutes of school ending. There was a public library not far from Alexander's school: he practically ran there. Sticking around for an extra second could easily lead to a fight or a debate, and he didn't have time for either. He had an essay to write.  
This was the usual: Alex settled in the back corner of the top floor of the library. He logged into a computer, opened a tab for C-span (now that they'd screwed up, he needed to keep an eye on them. If anyone dared use him like a pawn, he would be ready with a rebuttal).  
The back corner of any library was Alexander's only Happy place. He'd been deprived for two weeks and was beginning to feel so depressed that the staff had almost ended the punishment early. They'd almost decided to grow hearts.

His flash drive went into the computer, he pulled up a few sources, and then checked his email before he began.

And there was actually a response. Alex removed his headphones and leaned in a bit closer. He didn't need to hear South Carolina's idiotic junior senator flounder incoherently while he responded to a real senator.

It was from George Washington. His heart skipped a beat: it pumped a bit of warm blood through his lifeless body.

Hello Alexander,

I received your letter, as did many of my colleagues. It was quite a surprise, albeit a nice one to hear from you again. You may recall that we took heed of your speech, and passed an aid bill inspired by it. I attempted to follow up at the time, but couldn't track you down. You didn't provide a return address, but I believe it is not too far of a jump to assume you're living locally given the letters' post and delivery dates.

Assuming you do live in the area, I would like to invite you to my office for coffee.

Kindest Regards,  
George Washington

There was a moment of excitement, then a back-flow of disappointment: Washington hadn't responded to a single critique, and there had been many. But debates always went over better in person anyway.

Hello Senator Washington,

I am in the area. I would love to discuss the faults of this Congress. Name a time and date.

-Alexander Hamilton

Alexander went back to writing his essay with a grin smeared across his face. This would be fun. Finally, someone who was going to take his ideas seriously, and did he have some ideas for Washington.

Luckily, Washington had responded before Alexander left the library that evening.

Fantastic. How does Thursday at noon sound? I'll forward you my secretary's contact information. You can call her to be let in when you arrive.

Alexander's reply was just as short. Perhaps as brief as he'd ever been.

Great. See you Thursday.


	3. Burning the Midnight Oil

Thursday came fast and slow.  
Alexander had been studying up for his meeting with George Washington. Stepping into school caused time to slip to a crawl. He couldn't focus in class, so he played through the upcoming event in his mind, trying to guess what the senator would say, so he could craft the wittiest replies.  
The behavior wasn't too out of character: Alexander Hamilton having his head in the clouds during geometry was common enough to warrant not even passing concern. He always did on exams regardless.

English brought him back to the scuffed floors, and brick walls of his school, if only briefly. A day earlier, they'd turned in drafts of an essay on "Animal Farm". Their teacher randomly assigned each of them an essay to edit. The paper Alex was presented with was massively a two-page reiteration of the most common literary analysis of the book. That was the issue with classic books: No one bothered to come up with an original thought. He underlined a few bits that were written awkwardly, crossed out awkward transitions, and commented on the familiarity of many points. Then it was back to the clouds for another class period before the bell finally rung.

The D.C. libraries were all closed by nine, many by half five. This was never sufficient, but Alex usually made due. However, the night before his meeting with Senator Washington, Alexander found himself desperate for more time.

He'd reviewed his arguments, political stances, and general knowledge of the bills currently on the floor. The result was not impressive. He needed to do a lot more work to have any hope of sounding decent.

So, he'd made the trek to Georgetown University after school got out. There, the fifteen-year-old found himself a spot in a secluded portion of the library and set to work. He didn't check the clock until one in the morning. Then he thought he was finally pleased-no, he was never truly happy with his work, but it was passable. Good enough to keep Washington from laughing in his face, and dismissing him immediately. Not good enough to impress. Though, Alex didn't know if he was really capable of impressing Washington. He'd gotten a 92.6% on one of his essays: a meager A-. He'd never get anywhere if he couldn't even meet the standards of a public school teacher. She hadn't even provided a valid critique. The paper had been returned halfway through the lock-in, so he had taken the lack of feedback to mean he was an idiot beyond helping.

He packed his things, questioning why he'd agreed to meet Washington, and wondering where he'd found the rash of confidence to write those letters.

Alexander slunk out into the night, feeling deeply disappointed with himself. He wanted to be more prepared: by far. But he was too tired to come up with a decent thought and didn't have the money for a cup of coffee. God, he always managed to let everything go wrong at once.  
So, down the street he went, miserably critiquing every thought he'd ever had, and wondering if he hadn't just ruined the whole thing by being out so long past curfew. There would be a fun surprise upon his return either way: an overworked state babysitter, or a police officer.

Alexander's thoughts were a mess of self-criticism, and fear. Eventually, a block away from his fate, he stuffed his hand's in his pockets, and found an affirmation: But you can't let it get to you: You could have a future in politics, but not if you embarrass yourself in front of Washington. No one will take you seriously if they know. No one needs to know.

He repeated this, in different iterations, until he reached the door. Pity and respect were inversely proportional. People had stopped respecting his arguments after they'd begun to discuss how young he was, and how much he'd lost. The "poor Alexander" moment, was followed by a slew of questions:  
'Does a traumatized child really have the ability to articulate the situation accurately?'  
'Alex is a cute kid, but he's so young. We can't let his emotions detach us from reality'  
'He's just a kid. He doesn't know what he's saying'

He thought:  
1\. Yes, but he wasn't really traumatized.  
2\. His emotions had played no role in what he'd said. Not understanding the reality of his speech was far more indicative of a detachment of reality.  
3\. He certainly did. He always knew what he was saying. Anyone who willingly made such claims ought to be prepared for a for a battle.

There was no police car on the front walk. That was promising, and likely strongly correlated to the number of times he'd done this (i.e.: many, especially with an approaching debate, or when someone needed to be put in their place).

He knew that whoever had been forced to wait up would be awake, they were legally obligated to make sure he wasn't dead, so he didn't bother to be quiet with the lock. He stepped inside and was met by a disgruntled carer who seemed a bit peeved that he hadn't even bothered to act like it mattered that he was five hours past curfew.

"Just, go upstairs Alex. I'll deal with you in the morning". The group home wasn't a good fit for that kid. He was wasting away. He hardly ate. When they had to give him consequences, he became more depressed by the day. But he did fight, so there was no chance of finding another placement. Alex would probably age out without ever leaving the group home.

Alexander ran past him without another word, thanking whatever god had created the earth. He thought his relief must have been palpable. In the morning he would leave early. Any talk of 'consequences' could wait until after his meeting, even if there were more 'consequences' because of it. He set four alarms.

What had the meeting cost him so far?  
Any money he had to his name  
Two essays to buy off his roommates after he stayed up until 2, working by flashlight  
The opportunity to get more than four hours of sleep a night for two days in a row  
Almost certainly another week of freedom.  
But he had so much to gain. Someone was going to take him seriously. He could get a foot into the world of politics. But only if he managed to avoid sounding like an idiot.


	4. Foot in the Door

**Chapter Text**

Alexander Hamilton walked into the office, and Washington realized there was a possibility that he had passed him on the street without realizing.

Little Alexander Hamilton; that Hamilton kid; the child in the video, had chubby cheeks. His skin had had some color to it, not just pigmentation. He'd looked energetic. The only thing that linked them together: that made Washington sure this was the same kid, not just one with a faint resemblance, were the eyes.

Alexander had life in his eyes, and nowhere else. He just looked tired. There was no rosiness to his cheeks. He was gaunt. He seemed to exist in a way that was perpetually exhausted.

It wasn't his clothing: Alexander had managed to present himself rather well for a teenager with no budget, and approximately one formal outfit. Nothing about the apparel was even a smidge unusual. He'd come in dark jeans, a button shirt, and loafers that didn't belong to him. The true owner would never realize they'd been taken.

The concern began where superficial features ended.

Washington chose to look at Alexander's eyes. The man was incredibly composed. Alexander would never know his appearance had provoked even a moment's thought.

"Welcome to my office, Alexander, take a seat"  
Washington's voice seemed to snap Alexander out of a haze. He'd been slowly soaking in the grandeur of the room; the decorations were tasteful and classy. A touch of gold accenting brought a sense of regency, but in the same vein managed to avoid haughty pretension.

Alex made eye contact with Washington, and advanced towards his desk "Thank you for inviting me, Senator".

He extended his hand to shake. Washington obliged.  
"My pleasure"

Before Washington could have possibly said another word, Alexander interjected as he settled into a chair across, facing Washington across his desk.  
"Why did you want to see me? Sir."  
There were nerves emanating off of him.

Washington noted his own false assumption: Alexander did have some life in him. He seemed to drip with energy once he'd gotten started talking.

"You've caused quite a stir with those letters of yours".

Again, Alex spoke before Washington was quite done.  
"Sir, I stand by every word I wrote".

Washington let out a low chuckle. "I wouldn't assume otherwise. I wanted to speak with you because you're very passionate. You were able to get our aid bill off the floor when you were only thirteen; that's quite a feat".

Washington and Hamilton were both watching each other inquisitively.

Washington continued, assuming the lack of interruption was leave to do so. "I think you have a bright future. I wanted to meet you. To speak with you about your ideas".

Then Alexander had to interject: "I think you are compromising far too much on the budget. You act like you don't have a spine, and Rush is a snake. The whole plan is a disaster. No one is defending the interests of the poor".

Washington smiled slightly, and Alexander fickly added, "You said you wanted to speak with me about my ideas".

"And I do, but Alexander, compromise is important-"

"For the other side. Why should you compromise when you're right?" Alexander couldn't help himself. He'd never been good at biting his tongue, but Washington didn't seem to mind. He saw the teenager spring to life before his eyes.

"It doesn't matter who's right. Sometimes we must lose the battle to win the war." Washington remained composed, as always.

"And what war are you winning by allowing the Republicans to eliminate the estate tax?" Alex bit back.

This retort earned a smile from Washington, which led to a less than happy look from Alexander, "What?".

"You're clearly very passionate, but..."

Alexander didn't wait for Washington to pick up his thought. "I stand by every word I've ever said".

"That's a grand statement, we could use someone like you in the Senate." Washington could see Alexander getting tense. There was something off about him.

Alexander didn't speak again, so Washington followed up, "How did you end up in D.C., Alexander? Did you come directly here from Nevis?"

"No sir, I moved from Florida. It isn't an interesting story. I would rather discuss the legislation being reviewed in the Senate." Alexander Swept the question right under the rug. Washington could sense that the boy had found it invasive, which led him to believe there was a story-a long one, if not interesting. He didn't pry.

"Are you interested in politics, Alexander?" The smoothness that made Washinton such a beloved senator revealed itself.

"Yes, of course, I am. Why do you ask?" Could Washington not have surmised? Alexander couldn't imagine a scenario wherein a fifteen-year-old would familiarize themselves with the goings-on of Senate hearings, did they not have an interest in politics.

"Well, I'd like to meet with you more frequently. I think you have a gift. Your letters delayed our session by half an hour, and the look on Rush's face... It was extraordinary. Did you intend to make junior senators insecure? Because of those who did not receive a letter certainly noticed."

"I don't think half of them will get a second term, and a few haven't done anything of note" Alex shrugged.

Washington smiled. Martha Washington would have called it a grin because he wasn't one for grand emotional displays. Alexander was a special kid. The country was desperate for more minds like his.

"I believe it would be beneficial for the two of us to 'talk politics' once a week. You think I compromise too much, and I don't believe you know how to compromise at all. We can discuss the issues of the hour if you're willing.

Washington stood as Hamilton began to craft a reply. "Do you drink coffee or tea?"

"Oh, coffee sir." Alexander was elated, caffeine, and the offer from Washington.

The senator sat again while the Nespresso brewed two cups beside them. "What do you say?"

Alexander didn't miss a beat, "I would like that".

Washington's nodded, "Then let's set a date. This time won't work moving forward because you'd normally be in school."

Alexander's eyebrows briefly crinkled with confusion. Did the senator think he had the day off?  
"right".

Washington had a calendar on his desk. "Can you make Mondays at four in the afternoon? We can get ahead of the week."

A high beep drew Washington from his chair again. He retrieved two cups of coffee, passing one to Alexander, and keeping the other for himself.

Alex took the mug. "Perfect"

"Do you take it black?" With Alexander's nod, Washington smiled wistfully. "As do I, my son prefers milk with just a dash of coffee."

"I didn't know you had a son." That did explain the odd date: Washington's kid had the day off, and he just assumed everyone did.

"He's about your age. My wife and I consider his privacy important. He's been with us for seven years now."

Alexander nodded, "That's nice." He would have taken the conversation elsewhere if he had any concept of a place to go. "Is he planning on going into politics?"

Washington had regretfully, been forced to cut his meeting with Alexander short. The Democrats were holding an emergency meeting to discuss the budget.

Alexander had feigned disappointment but was undoubtedly relieved to be through discussing Washington's son. He swallowed the rest of the coffee and escorted himself out.

Returning to the house was essentially marching into battle, and he would need all the energy he could muster.


	5. Sea Change

Alexander Hamilton walked into the office, and Washington realized there was a possibility that he had passed him on the street without realizing.

Little Alexander Hamilton; that Hamilton kid;

the child in the video, had chubby cheeks. His skin had had some color to it, not just pigmentation. He'd looked energetic. The only thing that linked them together: that made Washington sure this was the same kid, not just one with a faint resemblance, were the eyes.

Alexander had life in his eyes, and nowhere else. He just looked tired. There was no rosiness to his cheeks. He was gaunt. He seemed to exist in a way that was perpetually exhausted.

It wasn't his clothing: Alexander had managed to present himself rather well for a teenager with no budget, and approximately one formal outfit. Nothing about the apparel was even a smidge unusual. He'd come in dark jeans, a button shirt, and loafers that didn't belong to him. The true owner would never realize they'd been taken.

The concern began where superficial features ended.

Washington chose to look at Alexander's eyes. The man was incredibly composed. Alexander would never know his appearance had provoked even a moment's thought.

"Welcome to my office, Alexander, take a seat"  
Washington's voice seemed to snap Alexander out of a haze. He'd been slowly soaking in the grandeur of the room; the decorations were tasteful and classy. A touch of gold accenting brought a sense of regency, but in the same vein managed to avoid haughty pretension.

Alex made eye contact with Washington, and advanced towards his desk "Thank you for inviting me, Senator".

He extended his hand to shake. Washington obliged.  
"My pleasure"

Before Washington could have possibly said another word, Alexander interjected as he settled into a chair across, facing Washington across his desk.  
"Why did you want to see me? Sir."  
There were nerves emanating off of him.

Washington noted his own false assumption: Alexander did have some life in him. He seemed to drip with energy once he'd gotten started talking.

"You've caused quite a stir with those letters of yours".

Again, Alex spoke before Washington was quite done.  
"Sir, I stand by every word I wrote".

Washington let out a low chuckle. "I wouldn't assume otherwise. I wanted to speak with you because you're very passionate. You were able to get our aid bill off the floor when you were only thirteen; that's quite a feat".

Washington and Hamilton were both watching each other inquisitively.

Washington continued, assuming the lack of interruption was leave to do so. "I think you have a bright future. I wanted to meet you. To speak with you about your ideas".

Then Alexander had to interject: "I think you are compromising far too much on the budget. You act like you don't have a spine, and Rush is a snake. The whole plan is a disaster. No one is defending the interests of the poor".

Washington smiled slightly, and Alexander fickly added, "You said you wanted to speak with me about my ideas".

"And I do, but Alexander, compromise is important-"

"For the other side. Why should you compromise when you're right?" Alexander couldn't help himself. He'd never been good at biting his tongue, but Washington didn't seem to mind. He saw the teenager spring to life before his eyes.

"It doesn't matter who's right. Sometimes we must lose the battle to win the war." Washington remained composed, as always.

"And what war are you winning by allowing the Republicans to eliminate the estate tax?" Alex bit back.

This retort earned a smile from Washington, which led to a less than happy look from Alexander, "What?".

"You're clearly very passionate, but..."

Alexander didn't wait for Washington to pick up his thought. "I stand by every word I've ever said".

"That's a grand statement, we could use someone like you in the Senate." Washington could see Alexander getting tense. There was something off about him.

Alexander didn't speak again, so Washington followed up, "How did you end up in D.C., Alexander? Did you come directly here from Nevis?"

"No sir, I moved from Florida. It isn't an interesting story. I would rather discuss the legislation being reviewed in the Senate." Alexander Swept the question right under the rug. Washington could sense that the boy had found it invasive, which led him to believe there was a story-a long one, if not interesting. He didn't pry.

"Are you interested in politics, Alexander?" The smoothness that made Washinton such a beloved senator revealed itself.

"Yes, of course, I am. Why do you ask?" Could Washington not have surmised? Alexander couldn't imagine a scenario wherein a fifteen-year-old would familiarize themselves with the goings-on of Senate hearings, did they not have an interest in politics.

"Well, I'd like to meet with you more frequently. I think you have a gift. Your letters delayed our session by half an hour, and the look on Rush's face... It was extraordinary. Did you intend to make junior senators insecure? Because of those who did not receive a letter certainly noticed."

"I don't think half of them will get a second term, and a few haven't done anything of note" Alex shrugged.

Washington smiled. Martha Washington would have called it a grin because he wasn't one for grand emotional displays. Alexander was a special kid. The country was desperate for more minds like his.

"I believe it would be beneficial for the two of us to 'talk politics' once a week. You think I compromise too much, and I don't believe you know how to compromise at all. We can discuss the issues of the hour if you're willing.

Washington stood as Hamilton began to craft a reply. "Do you drink coffee or tea?"

"Oh, coffee sir." Alexander was elated, caffeine, and the offer from Washington.

The senator sat again while the Nespresso brewed two cups beside them. "What do you say?"

Alexander didn't miss a beat, "I would like that".

Washington's nodded, "Then let's set a date. This time won't work moving forward because you'd normally be in school."

Alexander's eyebrows briefly crinkled with confusion. Did the senator think he had the day off?  
"right".

Washington had a calendar on his desk. "Can you make Mondays at four in the afternoon? We can get ahead of the week."

A high beep drew Washington from his chair again. He retrieved two cups of coffee, passing one to Alexander, and keeping the other for himself.

Alex took the mug. "Perfect"

"Do you take it black?" With Alexander's nod, Washington smiled wistfully. "As do I, my son prefers milk with just a dash of coffee."

"I didn't know you had a son." That did explain the odd date: Washington's kid had the day off, and he just assumed everyone did.

"He's about your age. My wife and I consider his privacy important. He's been with us for seven years now."

Alexander nodded, "That's nice." He would have taken the conversation elsewhere if he had any concept of a place to go. "Is he planning on going into politics?"

Washington had regretfully, been forced to cut his meeting with Alexander short. The Democrats were holding an emergency meeting to discuss the budget.

Alexander had feigned disappointment but was undoubtedly relieved to be through discussing Washington's son. He swallowed the rest of the coffee and escorted himself out.

Returning to the house was essentially marching into battle, and he would need all the energy he could muster.


	6. Tunnel Vision

Tunnel vision is an incredible thing. It allows a person to focus every ounce of energy that can be squeezed from their being, into a singular goal. If that goal is progressing, everything seems to progress and so tunnel vision allows a miserable person to pinpoint something minuscule and work themselves to death over it. Then they may believe that they are truly happy.

Until the bubble pops.

Tunnel Vision was one hell of a drug, and Alexander was paradoxically both fully aware, and totally oblivious to his use of it.

Alexander saw success just ahead of him. A better life was just on the horizon if only he could jump a bit higher, do a bit better, and seem a bit smarter.  
And, if in his effort to achieve these things, he neglected the -rather depressing- life he was supposed to be living, all the better.

He got up at five in the morning; went to the library, went to school, back to the library, and finally home, between midnight and one in the morning. He ate once a day at lunch if he had time for it. Usually, the ensuing nausea and lightheadedness made the saved time wasted in the grand scheme of things.  
The only deviation was Monday afternoon. He would try to get to sleep a bit earlier on Sunday because he had to put effort into his appearance. Owning only one button-down shirt made Alex feel that he needed to look especially neat so Washington wouldn't notice. After their meetings, he would go back to the library, refueled by the senator's coffee.

Three weeks into his meetings with Senator Washington, Alex's hard work paid off.

Sitting in Washington's office, in the thick of a conversation about the state of public education, the senator interrupted Alex.  
"I don't mean to change the subject, but I have something to discuss with you and I would prefer not to forget."

Alex's subtle nod gave Washington leave to continue.

"Alexander, we both know you're very bright. I think a challenge would do you very well."

Making note of the way Alexander's eyebrows knitted together, he elaborated, "Do you feel as though your teachers challenge you?", Washington questioned. "I don't think I would be incorrect in saying you could do half as much as you do, and continue to receive top grades."

"I guess you're right. They give out A's for anything." Alex agreed.

"Well, I have a proposition for you: my son attends a private school nearby. It's one of the best in the area. They send a dozen or so students to the Ivy Leagues every year." if Alex didn't know any better, he might have thought the senator was bragging.

The ivy leagues? Alexander's eyes twinkled.

"Well, I was speaking to the headmaster, and he'd heard of you. He asked me to pass this along to you." Washington remarked before handing Alexander a thick, brown envelope with his name meticulously hand-written in calligraphic font.

Alex hadn't opened the envelope in Washington's office. He'd bumbled his way through the remainder of the meeting, and run to the library. He wasn't sure if he really knew how to feel happy anymore before he'd opened it. Then he was certain that he did, but had absolutely no idea what to do with the emotion.

 _To Mr Alexander Hamilton esq.,  
I have heard quite a bit about you, and I have to concede, I am impressed. In most circumstances, we do not allow prospective students to apply during the academic year, but I have decided to make an exception. If you are interested in applying, please email a copy of your unofficial transcript to the address below. If your grades meet the standard of our school, as I suspect they will, we can set up an interview date. Please dress to a business casual standard. You will find information about our scholarship program inclosed. I look forward to meeting you.  
Best,  
Headmaster John Jay_

Alexander re-read the letter twice, and then the scholarship information. It was everything he could have hoped for, and more. After a moment of bliss, he caught himself.

You can't get carried away. This is just the beginning. You still have to get in. You have to impress him with the interview. You have to do well when you're there. Sure, you seem smart in a public school, but that'll hardly put your head above water in a private school like this.

He sprang into Action. Alexander had decided to deal with his previous elatedness by not allowing himself to be happy at all. By convincing himself that his success meant he had more work to do. He found a copy of his unofficial transcript and a midterm report. Both were sent off with an eloquent message before twenty minutes had passed. To Alexander's surprise, the headmaster needed only ten minutes to review his grades, and request an interview for the coming Wednesday.

That night, he went home with an interview for one of the most selective schools in the area, and a subtle suggestion that said the interview was but a formality.

Come Wednesday, Alexander was back in his button-up and slacks. Getting dressed, eating a handful of granola, and walking to school had dragged on forever, and then the school day rushed by, and he was sat in a very modern waiting room, repeating empty encouragements in his head, and failing to calm his beating heart. The carpet was made up of massive squares, alternating between two shades of grey. The furniture was a mix of punchy colors and stainless steel, and there seemed to be a trophy of some sort in every room.  
It was a far cry from the scuffed linoleum and decaying wooden desks of his public school. What if they didn't think he belonged? They would have to.  
One thought stuck in Alex's head as the receptionist ushered him into the office: this is the only shot you have. You don't have a family, you don't have a dime to your name, and if you screw this up, Washington will never speak to you again.

The door was propped open. Alex knocked. Headmaster Jay came to the door. He stuck out his hand, Alex shook it. "Headmaster Jay, I'm Alexander Hamilton."

The man smiled and patted Alex on the back as the shake came to an end. "Alexander, take a seat. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Alexander obliged, taking care to maintain good posture. "Thank you for the opportunity- I've been looking forward to this as well"

Jay gave a jovial chuckle, "No need to thank me, I could hardly pass you up! We have a debate team- it goes to the national competition every year. We're trying to establish an international championship as well. I think you'd be a perfect addition"

Alex was a bit caught off guard, "Thank you, sir, the school I currently attend doesn't have a formal debate team. I would be more than happy to join if they'll take me."

The headmaster broke into a grin. The interview was clearly already over. "That's fantastic. I want to have you start as soon as possible. I can send you home with forms today. We need an official transcript, vaccine records, a copy of your most recent physical, and a few more bits and pieces. If it's possible, I would like to see all of this in by tomorrow. We'll get you enrolled by Friday. I want you to sit some placement exams in the morning, and then we'll sort you into classes."

"I-" Alex was shocked by the sudden change of pace the barrage of information brought, "I'm not sure if I can the information from my school that quickly." He felt unwarrantedly apologetic.

"Now, that's alright. I can get my secretary to request the files herself. You just worry about the forms. I happen to have a copy in my desk"

He produced a deep blue folder, emblazoned with a silver school crest. It was nicer than any Alexander ever got to use.

"There are two packets: the first is just personal information. Date of birth, address, emergency contact, parent names and contact information, allergies, things of that nature. The second is financial paperwork. It's really a formality. We'll provide a scholarship if you need one."

Alexander nodded, for the first time in his life, truly stunned to silence. "I'll get this back to you as soon as possible. Do you need to have paper copies immediately? I might be able to get a scanned copy to you tonight."

"That sounds perfect. Now" the man stood, "You'll have to excuse my abruptness, but I have a few things to do, and you have papers to fill out".

Alex nodded, initiating a second handshake as he got out of his own chair. "Thank you for the opportunity".

Jay beamed, "It was my pleasure, Alexander. I will see you on Friday."

_

Alexander made an important discovery at the library that evening: being in foster care made filling out forms substantially easier. Mother's name, date of birth, phone number, and education level? Non-applicable. Father's? Ditto.  
This doubly true for the financial information. At the top of the five-page packet, was a box: The candidate was a ward of the state after the age of 13 (you may disregard the remainder of this document, the candidate will be assumed eligible for aid). Check.

If he had known it would take less than ten minutes to complete the forms, Alexander would have skipped the library, and gone directly to the CPS office. He was guaranteed to spend at least an hour waiting to see his caseworker for a second so she could sign on a few lines.

When Alex got to the offices, he wasn't sure what to expect. He'd never actually gone to see Mrs Knox before. Her presence was normally only requested by fed up foster parents.

There wasn't actually a receptionist in the building. It was an open floor, stuffed to the gills with desks. Alex interrupted the woman sitting at the one nearest the door. From her expression, he could guess visitors often chose her to bother.

"I need to have my caseworker, Mrs Knox, sign a few things. Is she in?"

The woman drew in a long sigh, glanced over her shoulder, and nodded, "I believe her desk is back there, she might be busy." she answered, boredly.

Alex proceeded through the narrow walkway created by gaps between desks. He spotted his own caseworker through the quiet chaos of crowded work spaces. She was combing through a stack of files with a highlighter. He dropped the folder to the left of her hand. "Mrs Knox, I need you to sign a few things."

Her head snapped up, and she squinted at him through glasses that had fallen to a rest on her nose, "Alexander? What's this about?"

"I'm changing schools. The details aren't important. You need to sign in three places. I earmarked the pages."

She looked at him incredulously, "What do you mean you're changing schools? Did you apply for a transfer?"

She eyed the folder, clearly noticing the school emblem . "How did you manage to swing this?" she asked incredulously.

Alexander didn't care about Mrs Knox's clearly awestruck expression, "It's not important. Just sign."

He opened the folder and flipped to the first page.

The overworked caseworker pushed her glasses up and gave him a smile left over from an instant of laughter, "Not until you tell me how this happened. Details matter, Alexander."

Alex leaned his head back, shut his eyes, and breathed through his nose. "This is ridiculous. I got an invitation. I had an interview. You need to sign. There are no details."

With a shake of her head, Mrs Knox exchanged the highlighter for a pen and drew a signature across each dotted line Alexander indicated, then stowed the papers back in the folder for him, and Alex grabbed it. He was gone in an instant, darting down the stairs, and back to the library, only to realize that he had used his printer credits for the month.

Of course, without money, he couldn't pay to scan. Being poor sucked, but he forced himself to move on. There were other options.

Tape was free, so he taped the folder closed. He already owned a sharpie, so he wrote his name on the cover. And, walking was still free, so he headed back to the school, and handed the folder off to the receptionist.

She read his name and immediately recognized it. "Oh, you're starting Friday? Here"  
A scribbled note was in Alexander's hand a moment later. "I'll put these in Headmaster Jay's mailbox. You go to the student store. They'll give you a polo shirt, and a sweater. You should come in uniform on Friday."

Alex took a step towards the hallway, then briefly turned his head back. He had no idea where the student store was. But the receptionist had busied herself again.  
He shouldn't bother her. It was his responsibility: take care of it yourself, if you belong here, figure it out.

Alex found himself in a massive, mostly deserted school. He walked down a maz of corridors, doors, and stairs until he was entirely, utterly lost.

But, a faint sound from the end of the hall told him the school wasn't totally deserted.

"I refuse to see this school fall into partisan hands. We need to stop squabbling and get into the action."

Alex found the boy speaking around a corner at the end of the corridor. He was taping a poster to the wall.

They were professionally printed 11x17s with a color portrait of the kid putting them up. "Aaron won't "Burrn" under pressure".  
There was a professional edge that made Alexander doubt that any student had designed them.

"Hey, do you know where the student store is?" Alexander bit the bullet and rounded the corner. "I'm Alexander. I take it, you're Aaron?". Burr took Alex's hand, which had been resting at his side, and shook it.

"I can show you the way if you promise me your vote." The poster-child said.

The boy had a politician's grin. He advanced down the hall quickly, leaving his posters on the floor. "Come on, it's just this way."

Alex scrambled after him. "Sorry, vote for you for what?"

Burr turned, walking backward so he could face Alexander, "For vice president of course. Is your homeroom teacher not playing D.C.T.V.? We should talk about fixing that".

Alexander shook his head, "No- I'm new, I'm starting Friday I mean."  
Burr broke into a grin. "Well then, welcome to DCI." Within the spacing of one smooth step, Burr had pivoted on his back heel and was walking in step with Alex, arm slung over his shoulder.

"Let me fill you in. Our Class president was granted early enrollment to Harvard. She'll be gone in a few weeks, and that leaves the school in a precarious position." He veered down another hall, dragging Alex along.

"The vice president will take over her role, as in any functioning democratic republic, but the issue still isn't fixed. We can't have the vice presidency vacant for half the school year. That would be uncivil. I know this first hand, as one of the Junior class representatives. Which is why you should vote for me."

They arrived in front of a little storefront within the building. Glass panes from wall to ceiling gave a clear view of the supplies and memorabilia inside.  
"Allow me to help you find what you need. It's unusual to have someone start at our school so late in the year. Are you a freshman?"

Alexander separated himself from Burr, "No, I'm a sophomore-at least, at my current school."

"...Let's find what you need" Burr was eager to push past the awkward blunder he had made. He pried the slip from Alexander's hand, "Oh, easy. I should have guessed. Come over here, I think you're a small." He took Alex's hand and pulled him to a shelf of navy sweaters with embroidered insignia on the breast.

"The uniform policy isn't serious. You can wear whatever pants you want, but you have to wear a school sweater or a shirt. You can get away with being off dress code by wearing a sweater and then taking it off, but only in the winter. But, you shouldn't." Burr looked stern, "The rule isn't difficult to follow."

Burr held a sweater up against Alexander's frame. "This will fit. Only girls get extra smalls."

He took the sweater and moved Alex along to a table of polos, where Alex found he wasn't surprised when Burr picked a shirt without any input from him.

"And we're good to go. I can walk you to the door. It's a big school. Don't want to get lost, do we?"  
Burr lead Alexander to the exit, "And remember, it's Aaron Burr. Two a's, two r's. If you need anything, just find me on Friday. Your future vice president is always happy to help!".

Alexander Gave Aaron a skeptical, but appreciative look, "Alright, thanks. I will".

Alex zipped straight back to the library. The concept of a placement exam had added fuel to the (already dangerously hot) fire. Math was boring. Geometry was boring. If he could prove he knew at least enough calculus that he would have been pulling a passing grade during the first half of the year, he'd be golden. Precalculus was a beast unto itself, but anything unrelated could be assumed incidental. He would have to hope that the school would allow him to make up the missed pieces in his own time.

A google search for "Calculus textbook" led him to straight to a PDF of what he needed. Perfect.

There was no need to go to school on Thursday. He beat through derivatives in four hours and allocated an hour for practice. There was nothing incredibly complicated, and anything that took longer than a second to sink in was skipped. He didn't need it all, just most.

Sleep was hard to come by that night; even more so than usual, but Alex estimated he had gotten a good five hours, and that was all anyone really needed. His heart was beating out of his chest, he was creeping towards the low end of a healthy weight, and he hadn't let himself feel happy in a month, but the future looked bright, and that was all that mattered. The light at the end of the tunnel.

He set off to school in a new blue sweater; it crossed his mind that he could show up to his meetings with the senator in his school clothes now. That was one problem out the window.

His phone buzzed.

 **Knox:**  
Good news Alexander, I found you a new placement. It's another group home, but hopefully, it'll be a better fit than the current one.

 **Hamilton:**  
When am I moving?

 **Knox:**  
Tomorrow morning.

 **Hamilton:**  
k

Alexander thought nothing of it: he paid it no mind. Moving group homes because no family wanted you didn't matter if nothing in the present mattered. School mattered, the future mattered, and the future was looking great.

But Alexander was living in a bubble, and he was overdue for a pop.


	7. No Rose Without a Thorn

Alexander's day really began at eight o'clock, sat in a very large library, in front of a very new computer, taking a series of tests from an online module that was a bit like the one used for standardized tests in public schools, but nicer in every possible way.

There were seven exams to take: English, History (comprehensive), Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Math (calculus track), and Foreign Language (choices available at start of exam).

Alexander began with History, then Biology, Foreign Language (he chose French). He had intended to do Math last, but by that point, he had been testing for a few hours already, and decided to jump the gun.

Each exam, as had been explained to him prior to beginning, was progressive. When he screwed up, the questions got easier- if he did well, they got harder. So it was easy to get lost in a world of nervous procrastination: was a simple integral more difficult than a difficult trig identity? Had he fucked up the integral of 1/x? It was the same way with each test, but the math was particularly good fodder for self criticism, because he'd actually tried on it.

But Alexander did make it through math, and went on to chemistry, and physics, and finally, just after noon, he was done with everything. By the time he received a schedule from the registrar, he'd had ample time to stew in the glory of how horridly he'd fucked up each exam. For god's sake, they'd had the boy sit there, while the registrar scrutinized each result with a 'hm' or an 'oh…' speckled in every so often, just to make sure he couldn't relax.

He told himself to just let it be, as they called for the peer guide to be sent in. If he'd fucked up, it was his fault, and he would have to figure out a new way to succeed. He would have to learn from his mistakes. He could always work even more than he already had been, and then convince them he wasn't a total idiot- unless he actually was.

But the train of thought was cut short, much to the benefit of Alexander's mental well being. The door began to fly open, but was caught just a few inches out, and a face appeared: one with a very large grin, Alexander noted when he looked over his shoulder.

"He is here, yes? Is this Alexander?"

The registrar nodded, "Alexander, this is Gilbert. He volunteered to show you around today".

Lafayette finally allowed the door to swing fully open, and made his grand appearance. He held his palm out to Alexander, arm stretched.

"You may call me Lafayette. Come, I will show you the way to the cafeteria. It is time for lunch."

Alexander scrutinized Lafayette's hand for a moment. He gathered that the other boy wanted to hold his hand. It just seemed a bit odd. But, in the interest of amiability, and because he did find Lafayette's animated energy a balancing presence, he placed his hand on Lafayette's and was promptly dragged away. They were out of the room, and the office, in a second.

"You must be very excited, no? This is your very first day at a new school. Was your old school like this one?" Lafayette pulled Alexander directly into the student market. "Have you received your student ID already?"

Alex reached for to pocket fruitlessly, shaking his head, "No- was I supposed to?"

Lafayette shook his head, rotating a full 180 degrees each time-it seemed that whiplash was a real danger- "No, it is no problem at all. I am sure you will be getting one soon. I will take you after school has ended. Now, I can buy you a lunch."

Lafayette had moved on already, and Alex didn't feel like he had much of a choice but to follow. "Oh, I mean, that's nice, but you don't need to. I'm not really hungry" -false- "I wouldn't be able to pay you back."-true- "I can follow you so I'll know what to do in the future, if you don't mind."

"Of course I do not mind." Lafayette rolled his eyes, but continued to smile. He took two bottled iced coffees out of the supermarket-style fridges (he's probably very tired, it had to take a ridiculous amount of caffeine to be that happy, and animated all day, Alex guessed), and then picked up two slices of pizza (Nothing out of the ordinary about a teenage boy eating two pieces of pizza). Then, Lafayette led Alex to the line, and picked up two trays. He set the food on top of the stack, and paid.

"Hold this" Lafayette dropped one of the trays into Alexander's hands without much warning, and then transferred one of each item onto it. The grin on his face was wider than Alex had ever seen.

"There you go. Now we both have our food, and we can go to sit."

"Lafayette… I told you, I'm not hungry" Alex was having a hard time keeping up the lie. He hadn't eaten in over a day. Of course he was hungry, but wasting someone else's money seemed out of the question.

"Yes, but I have made the executive decision, because you are very thin, and I think I would be in trouble if you were to die of starvation today, so you must eat. I also thought you would need coffee."

Alex took too long to decide whether he was supposed to be offended; Lafayette had spotted his friends, waved at them with a what may as well have been a three-mile swing radius, and brought Alex to the table before his mind was made up.

He pulled out a chair for himself, and another for his new friend, "This is Alexander. He is brand new. I am showing him around today."

Alex sunk into his chair. The cafeteria was weird: rather than long rectangles with attached benches, the room was filled with individual chairs. He opened his coffee, and took a long gulp. It would be nice if his brain turned on- maybe then he would stop being such a fucking idiot.

"This is Hercules-"

"Herc" the tallest one in the group corrected his friend. "Call me Herc."

"And John." Lafayette concluded, gesturing to a boy with neatly cropped dark hair, whose head was hardly peeking out from his crossed arms on the table.

"Hey"

"Don't mind John. He's being a drama queen because he got a B+ on a comp-sci project with a class average of 62%." Herc nudged his friend and gave Alex a smile.

John pushed himself up. "I should have gotten an A. I didn't mean to comment out that line. He should give me an A" He declared.

"Then go argue your case to the teacher "

"I will"

Lafayette took a break from his pizza to re-engage Alex.

"How is your timetable Alex? Which classes are you taking."

Alex pulled the folded paper from his pocket, and slid it to Lafayette. Herc leaned over the French Boy's shoulder. "Woah-trippy schedule"

Alex's eyebrows crinkled. He'd had one bite of pizza, and suddenly felt nauseous. "What's wrong with it."

"Nothing is wrong, It is just… peculiar" Lafayette agreed, "There is nothing to worry about" He added tactfully, placing the schedule in clear view on the table.

"What grade are you in? They gave you sophomore history, and science-chemistry; but then you have junior english, and math. They also stuck you in French with Laf, which just means you already know it, and get to fuck off all year and take the exam for an easy 5."

Alex took his schedule back, reading it over with uncertainty.

"Oh, and John. he's in debate with you."

"I'm a sophomore" Alex finally got around to answering the first question he'd been asked.

"You are so young! I cannot believe it!" Lafayette spoke first, but only by a hair. Herc spoke immediately after.

"You're a baby, man. How old are you?"

"I turned fifteen in January"

"Whaaat- no way. Baby einstein over here is younger than every other sophomore, and he's already half a junior."

Alex didn't seem to get Herc's comment. John filled him in. "The cutoff to start school is October; so, you would usually be a freshman this year. You must have started in New York, right? Are you a New Year's baby?"

Alexander nodded. "I didn't realize it was different here. I don't usually get asked about my age."

What John had surmised was mostly correct, anyways. He'd been registered at a public school in New York, where his then-guardian mistakenly wrote "January 1" rather than "January 11". There hadn't been an obviously fruitful reason to correct the error, so Alex simply hadn't.

Lafayette tried to turn the spotlight down. Alex was drinking a lot of coffee, and eating not a lot of pizza. "Yes, you must just have been in a very good school, so they had to put you in junior classes. You will be in the same English class with us".

"I bet he's going to school us all. The whole year we've been complaining about how much AP lang sucks, and Alex is gonna walk in and get a perfect score or something." Herc commented, giving Alex a playful smile.

Lafayette smacked his arm. "Do not make Alex nervous."

"Speak for yourself Herc. I've never gotten less than an eight on our in class writes. And Necker loves my essays." John cut in.

Hercules rolled his eyes, but Lafayette supported his friend. "John is right. That is true."

The bell broke the conversation; time for class.

Alex got down a few more bites of pizza, and the rest of the coffee before they all got up, and headed to English together.

The walk was fairly pleasant; Lafayette continued with his attempts to integrate Alex into their group, and it seemed to be working. Alex seemed happier. But, english was only a short walk, and they quickly entered the classroom, where they found Burr.

He spotted Alexander before the group was even fully inside.

"Hamilton-I thought you were a sophomore."

"I am." Alex confirmed.

"Show Burr your schedule Alex." John prodded. He couldn't resist the desire to see Burr's reaction.

Alex passed it over as casually as he could. "They had me take placement tests. No one mentioned changing my grade level."

Bur looked at it, and nodded approvingly. If he was taken aback, the emotion was well concealed, though Alexander did receive a second once-over. "You must be smarter than I thought. But stay away from the debate team. That's my advice, as your future class VP."

John rolled his eyes, "Put a sock in it Aaron. Just because you're crap at developing arguments doesn't make debate as a sport morally corrupt"

"Sport" Hercules made air quotes, and chuckled, winning himself a dirty look from John.

"I'm sorry, It's just so cute when you call it that. It's very serious- I know"

John too Alex's arm. "Come on, let's find a seat"

"Wait, John." Lafayette took Alex's other arm. "I am his guide. I will sit with him."

John rolled his eyes, "You act like this role has existed for years, and they didn't just ask for a volunteer yesterday. Come on Alex."

"I'll sit here." Alex slipped into the closest desk, his arm was held above his shoulder until John realized, and dropped it. The whole topic seemed fruitless to him: why bother.

All three of the others filled in the desks around him.

"How pragmatic of you Alex: you put a stop to their stupid argument before it even started." Herc reclined in his chair; Alexander would do just fine. The kid could hold his own.

"Alex can stay. I like him better than both of you idiots" He told the other two, lovingly.

"What style of writing is this class on?" Alex asked; he'd never taken an AP before, and couldn't fathom a form of writing difficult enough to warrant such a title.

"It's mostly rhetorical analysis. We covered argumentative at the beginning of the year." John informed Alex, who wasn't entirely satisfied with the response.

"What is that exactly?" Maybe Alex was a bit behind. There was a whole genre of writing that he'd never heard of.

"You just read something, and use metaphors and structure, and stuff to guess what the author was implying about society."

Alexander almost sighed in relief: "Oh- That sounds great"

Lafayette didn't quite agree with the nonchalance of the conversation: "Great? Non. Rhetorical analysis causes my brain to ache."

"Agreed-but we've only been at it for a week and Alex is like a fucking baby einstein over here, so I'm sure he's right. And John has his dad."

John rolled his eyes, "My dad really cares about academics." He provided, not wanting to leave Alex totally in the dark.

"If I didn't know how to do it, you wouldn't see me for like a week, but this is easy. You just have to think about it the right way".

"Oh, so I've just been thinking about it wrong. Sorry, my bad. Do enlighten me, professor John," Herc smirked, and John appeared to be preparing to explain when the bell sounded. Any uttered words were blurred out, and the teacher took up where they left off.

A man with fluffy grey hair walked to the center of the room, arms behind his back like a half military march, and a grin on his face.

"Hello class; good afternoon; my name is , and if you're wondering why I've chosen to repeat this introduction halfway through the year, it's because we have a new student today." He joined the rest of the class in staring at Alexander.

"Why don't you stand up and tell us all your name?"

There were less than twenty pupils in the room, so everyone had noticed the new face, and Alex decided it was better to get introducing himself out of the way.

He stood up briefly: "My name is Alexander Hamilton".

smiled, and nodded. There was a grandfatherly quality to him. "Thank you , please take a seat"

Just when Alex's but hit the unusually ergonomical chair, the teacher continued. "Now, onto the lesson- I'm sorry to welcome a new student this way, but there is no lesson. Put away your things; take out lined paper, and a blue or black pen; it's time for an in class write."

The room had begun to echo with groans, along with the sound of zippers, and paper shuffling before had even finished his statement. Alex played copy-cat. He found a black rollerball, and produced a stack of lined paper. It was all fine, he told himself- better to be tested, and told you don't belong on the first day, and if you do belong, prove it.

The papers were distributed upside down. "Do not turn this over until I say you may. Remember; this is timed. You have forty minutes."

After the last paper was handed out, the old man jogged back to his desk, and grabbed a stopwatch. "Ready… Go!".

A symphony of swishing filled the room, followed by intense silence. Alex turned his paper, and read. It was a short story about a girl going out on a boat with her father and brother. Okay, all he had to do was pick things out about the language. As long as he wasn't an idiot, he could do it.

Alex put pen to paper and began to write: but what he wrote wasn't right, so he had to rewrite, and again. Suddenly, the lights were off: Alex dropped his pen out of shock. The chorus of soft pings assured him that everyone else had dropped theirs as well.

"Time!" called, and the light's came back on, revealing the grin on his face.

Well, shit. Alex wasn't done. He had ten crossed out paragraphs, and a 70% finished essay. How were they expected to write perfectly in such a short period of time? Maybe he was an idiot. Maybe they shouldn't have put him in this class.

individually collected the essays: a privilege afforded to him by the small class size. "Don't worry, if it's horrible, I'll toss it" He whispered to Alexander.

The gesture was supposed to be reassuring, but it was received as a grievous insult.

"I'd take you up on that" Her handed the old man his own essay with a wink.

"Nice try , but last I checked, you've been here all year."

Alex put his head on his desk. What sort of idiot was he? Even thinking he could have done well before walking in was stupid.

Back at his desk a moment later, released them from the bubbly, nervous silence. "You can all chat amongst yourselves until the bell rings. I'm going to start grading these. I'm sure there's much to improve upon."

Alex lifted his head up. The others were looking at him.

"...Well, I did not, as you would say, knock that ball out of the park" Lafayette eventually said.

"Yeah, I failed: got a 2, or a 3 if I'm lucky" Hercules agreed.

John concurred as well: "It could have been better".

"I probably failed" Alexander muttered.

"Well, if you did, he'll just toss it out- Necker is nice. He's not gonna screw you over on your first day." Hercules began the encouragement train, and the other two jumped on.

Try as he might, Alex could not get them to shut up, and move on from the essay until the bell rang.

"Time for debate. See you guys after school. Come on Alex, you started on the best day of the week! we get new topics on Friday." John lit up as he spoke. "Hurry, we don't want to be late. Angelica bites."

Alex got his bag on his shoulder, and stepped into the aisle. "Who's that"

John's smile had turned into a grin, "Oh, you'll find out. Come on. I'll race you."

Alex was shocked, "Race me?"

John ran out of the classroom. Alex bolted after him; "Wait". He didn't know where the fucking room was.

"I will come meet you after class" Lafayette's voice faded into the distance.

Halfway there, John decided to behave like a civilized human being and walk (thank god for that, because Alex had not eaten enough to be exerting himself), so Alex was able to catch up, and they reached the classroom far before the bell rang anyways.

And when it did, oh boy, did Alexander find out who Angelica was. She walked in, set down her bag, got onto the podium, and began assigning topics with the authoritative tone of a teacher; a role that she clearly did not have. When she got to John, she paused, "John."

"Yes?"

"New kid?"

"I started today." Alexander cut in- no need to discuss him like a specimen. "I'm Alexander Hamilton."

Angelica hopped down from the podium, and shook Alexander's hand. "John. You get 'cutting science spending to decrease irregular use of social security funds'-con. Go work."

She never looked away from Alexander. "I'm Angelica Schuyler. Debate team president. Where did you move from Alexander?"

"I didn't move. I just changed schools"

She smiled deviously, "So they scalped you? Which school was it?"

"That's an insignificant detail. I'm here now, aren't I?"

Angelica rolled her eyes, "Now I know why you came in with John. You can have 'making increased cuts to social programs to decrease the national debt'-pro. We're debating budget concepts floating around Congress. You're against Thomas. I think it'll be fun. And, he's not here today, so you get a head start."

Finally, Angelica's eye's left Alexander's. "Hey, James. I have a new topic for you, and no I don't care that you already spent two minutes on an outline."

"Wait, Angelica: are you related to Philip Schuyler?" Alex asked before she left.

Angelica's expression made it seem as though she'd been hoping he would ask. "That sounds like an 'insignificant detail' to me, Alexander. Get to work. I'm checking drafts on Monday"

"Then you have something to look forward to" Alex left Angelica with an expression torn between amusement and skepticism. If anything, he had managed to pique her interest.

He went to sit by John; they shared silent company for an hour with a backdrop of clicking keys.

Lafayette met them at the door after the bell rang. He was so fast, it was impossible he hadn't left class early. They found Hercules in the front office while Alexander's ID was printed.

"It is official, now you are truly a DCI student" Lafayette clapped as Alex stowed his ID.

"Let's go celebrate." John suggested; "I need to do something fun before my dad sees the grade I'm about to get from the in class write, and crucifies me."

"Yes, Let us. Alex can come along to my house. It will be fun. Alex, can you come?" Lafayette held Alex's arms, and grinned expectantly.

"We always hang out at Laf's after class. He has the best parents." Herc provided a bit of context.

"Yeah, alright. I suppose I can come" Alex agreed.

And so, Alex found himself being herded out of the school, and into a little grey car. Hercules climbed into the driver's seat, and cracked a joke about being a chauffeur when John and Laf both shoved themselves into the back with Alex, who was in for a bit of a shock when the drive to Laf's house was around twenty minutes long. He was going to have one hell of a time returning home that evening.

"Next time, if neither of you plans on taking the passenger seat, I will." Alex announced as they popped out of the confined space in a manner that mirrored a group of clowns leaving a clown-car.

Lafayette and John tried to explain why they'd both ended up crammed in the back, while Hercules cackled: yeah, put the tiniest fourteen year old ever to exist in the passenger seat-perfect.

Eventually, the cool wind, and Lafayette's concern over Alexander being cold, cut the light hearted bickering short, and forced the group into the home.

It was a nice big house that had somehow managed a warm, cozy vibe. Lafayette's mother stuck her head into the entryway as they removed their shoes. "Would you boys like some hot chocolate?" She asked, her eyes trailed over the group, stopping at Alex: someone new?

"Yes, please, but we will need four, rather than three. This is Alex. He is new today, and we have made him our friend." Lafayette removed the burden of pointing out the new face from his adoptive mother.

She smiled warmly at him. Alex was never one to shy away from an introduction in his public life, so he stepped forward to shake her hand. "Alexander Hamilton. Nice to meet you. Lafayette invited me. I hope you don't mind"

"I'm Martha." She had warm, motherly eyes that Alexander could appreciate only if he detached himself from the situation entirely. How nice for Lafayette to have someone like this in his life.

"It's nice to meet you too, Alexander. I recognize that name- Where could I have heard it before…"

Alex rubbed the back of his neck, assuming that video was buried somewhere in the recesses of her memory. "I get that a lot." He provided, being useless on purpose.

"Martha, if you do not mind, we are going to study in my bedroom now." Lafayette interrupted the conversation before it had the chance to get awkward.

"No, of course I don't mind. I'll bring you boys some snacks." She looked over the group fondly as they headed up the stairs.

"It was nice to meet you" Alexander said, before heading up with the rest. It seemed lafayette was adopted: or he was on incredibly informal terms with his mother, who had absolutely no accent. The former seemed leagues more probable.

The afternoon breezed by; he and John worked on their essays while Laf helped Herc with a French children's book translation. Martha came up with a tray of mini-marshmallow filled hot chocolates, and then another with various snack foods. Alex sipped his hot chocolate, but was far too preoccupied with the third draft of his essay to think about snacking. This may have concerned the other boys if he'd stayed long enough for it to become notable: Hercules in particular had begun informally tracking what Alex ate, but when the small teen suddenly excused himself, and ran off before dinner, he was left with an ominous data gap. Whether Alex actually ate dinner would make a huge difference in how much he needed to care about the food problem the younger boy clearly had. Lacking actual evidence, he made an executive decision as the group's resident mother hen, to assume Alexander wasn't going to eat much at dinner, and care a lot going forward.

Alex did actually eat something that night. After an hour long walk, and a bus ride he'd paid for with coins collected along the way, his already malnourished body was stubbornly demanding nutrition. He obliged, though mild nerves had begun to seep in, and made the task a bit more difficult than necessary.

He was moving in the morning, and to god knew where. Some other group home, hopefully closer-no, further, from the school. If it was much further, would have to bring him a bus pass, and his life would become infinitely easier.

Possible negative, and positive implications of the impending move swirled in Alexander's head so haphazardly that he couldn't sleep, or write. He stayed up, staring at the wall until 6:00 AM rolled around. He climbed out of the bed with bags under his eyes, feeling a bit wrong about it-going to bed, then getting up without ever sleeping was emotionally numbing. It just felt wrong. Usually, if he didn't sleep, he did it at the library. Staying in bed like that seemed like a defeat.

So, it was good he was moving- the bed was ruined either way. That's what he told himself. After a quick change, the plastic bag that Alex had been living out of for weeks finally got to go down the stairs, where he sat with it for nearly another hour, waiting for .

When she arrived, conversation didn't exactly flow like a river: Alex was tired, and a bit sickly looking. She hadn't held her tongue on the matter, and he hadn't held his.

"Well, I wonder why I haven't slept. I'm a high school student, and I have no idea where you're about to take me. There should be some logic somewhere in there."

The poor woman just didn't know how to follow that. She would just make sure the placement knew to watch his eating, and sleeping habits for any concerning patterns.

But, upon arriving at the new group home, housed in an old brick apartment building, Alex found enough evidence to prove his misery and anxiety was founded. left him there with guilt weighing heavily on her conscience. It didn't seem like a good fit, but in the entire city, there simply wasn't one.

And, Alexander was a fighter- wasn't he? He'd gotten himself into that school, hadn't he? The teen would survive. Maybe it would be good for him. This place had structure, and the man who supervised had experience with troubled kids. It may not have been in the typical sense, but Alexander certainly was troubled.

As his case worker's mind moved to other kids, Alex himself wasn't quite sure if he would make it through this placement in one piece. Maybe it was the jail warden-esque pomp of the man who ran the place, or the uniform depressiveness that cloaked everything inside, or the grin on the face of the boy who'd showed him around, or the eerie seriousness with which he'd delivered the line, "Welcome to the dungeon" as Alex entered his room.

"The dungeon?" It wasn't like the windows had bars or anything- sure, the one in his room was small, and high up, but no bars. It looked similar to any other room he'd ever had. Hell, this one even had a desk.

The boy leaned into the doorframe, a prideful grin forming as he prepared to deliver a few lines that he had surely thought up long before, and until that moment, had sat on impatiently. "This is King's castle, but we're all living in the dungeon. I'm Lee. Don't talk to me ever again."

Lee seemed to take pride in leaving Alexander a bit befuddled. It didn't feel right, and if that feeling was wrong, Lee sure had a knack for taking advantage of the atmosphere. Alex's gut told him it wasn't; he couldn't figure a logical reason to unpack. Surely, this wouldn't last. There was no evidence to support such a theory, but as unfounded as it was, the young teen was struggling to let it go.

He paced around his room; attempting, and failing, to edit his essay every so often. By noon, he received confirmation that King was every ounce as horrid as he seemed. Someone had pissed him off, and his temperamental screaming made the whole floor shake.

He seemed to find someone to holler at every few hours. Eventually, Alex had to separate himself from the situation, put on his headphones, and pretend they could block out the stomping, and slamming doors.

He finished a draft of his essay, and tossed it. Worse-far worse- than the previous one.

Night came to his room early. The brick buildings were densely packed, so as soon as the sun passed its peak, a shadow draped across the space. Alexander couldn't help but feel that this was fitting.


	8. Boiling Point

Any sentient being with a moderate inclination towards logic could have understood why Alexander wasn't eager to spend much time at the new placement. He wouldn't admit to being afraid, but certainly, a bit of nervousness was warranted, and a desire to avoid King? Simply a given. So Alex had high-tailed out of the area darn close to the crack of dawn.

They were a bit further from his school, but a bit closer to Laf's house, and luckily, closer to Georgetown University as well. Alexander could easily see himself spending a great deal of time there in the foreseeable future.

Alex hadn't had decent sleep; he didn't exactly have a history of dream-filled nights, and consistently anticipating King's next outburst over some rule violation didn't help the matter. So, when the scrawny teen passed out on an armchair tucked away between bookshelves in the ancient history section for a few hours, no one with any inkling of what was going on could have blamed him.

It wasn't anything in particular that caused Alex to wake, his body just couldn't stand allowing him to rest in an unfamiliar place for too long, so he suddenly blinked away the blank grogginess, and recovered his bearings. Right- the library. With the stroke of his fingers through his tousled hair, Alex got up and found his way to a computer.

He managed to be semi-productive for a few more hours. The essay was as good as it would get. Alex knew it wasn't his best work, and part of him reminisced about 'idea circumstances' while another scoffed, and wondered why he was weak enough to let a bit of yelling get to him. He printed the final copy and checked his email before departing.

Washington wasn't going to make their meeting. Unfortunate, but Alex somehow expected to be let down. It hardly stung. The walk back to King's was spent trying to reason with himself: he was a busy man. It was just one meeting, and he had just done Alex such a massive favor. There wasn't anything to be hurt over, not really?

But he still was. Alex longed for those few moments where someone was taking him seriously, especially as he entered King's residence.

But, quickly Alex found himself with more pressing matters to worry over. King's heavy footsteps could be heard a floor up. He tried to slip up to his room unnoticed, but King stopped him on the stairs.

"I've been looking for you." He smiled one of the most overtly non-joyous smiled Alex had ever seen.

"Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton. Didn't you listen when I told you the rules?"

"You didn't tell me any-" Alexander continued speaking even after King interrupted, intent on getting his message across until it was fully clear that would not be happening.

"I suppose I'll have to remind you. You must be dull if you've forgotten so quickly" King's voice quickly jumped to three times its original volume.

"You cannot leave this house without my explicit permission. You must return, and alert me, before the time I tell you to be back" The man had begun walking his designer jeans down the steps, forcing Alex back. By the time he was through, the words were being screamed, and Alexander had spittle hitting his face.

King grabbed Alex's arm, and leaned in, forcing the boy to teeter on his heels, and arch his back uncomfortably, "You're staying in your room until you leave for school in the morning."

Alex was speechless: whenever he'd tried to interject, King had just screamed louder. In a battle of volume, King was the clear winner and obviously wanted to keep the upper hand. He plowed forward as Alex stumbled over his own tongue for a witty retort that didn't come fast enough.

"Come on."

Based on what he'd heard, Alex expected King would yell until he stopped speaking entirely, so the continued screaming seemed to script. There was no version of events, in any alternate timeline, where the boy expected King to suddenly release his arms. They were only four steps from the main level, King had been tugging on Alexander's arms with an uncomfortably strong grip, while he leered over him in such a way that it was only possible to stay upright because his arms were being held.

So, King had to know that when he let go, Alex would fall over. He had to have foreseen the stumble; the grasp for a rail that wasn't, and the backward tumble down just enough stairs to hurt without causing any long-term damage.

As Alex threw his arms back to protect his head, he caught a grin on King's face. This was calculated. In a flash, he'd reached the wooden floor, but only after colliding with both walls, and taking a hit from each uncarpeted step.

King was quick to pull him up. "Oh, dear. I didn't realize you struggled with balance." He sneered. "You should work on that. You can't expect other people to hold you up."

They were up the stairs in a heartbeat, Alex struggling to catch his breath, and level his mind in the sudden silence, which was broken instantly by a 'click'. Hearing the door lock amid the sudden, jarring silence was sobering. What the hell had just happened? Alex could hardly bear to metabolize it.

The teen backed away from the door; eyes trained on the knob. His legs felt like jello, and gladly gave way the instant the bed was near enough to break the fall. The mattress let out a grievous screech, and once he recovered from the minor heart attack the noise had caused - was he really going to jump at sounds now? Hopefully, he wasn't that pathetic- Alex became painfully acquainted with the springs themselves.

Considering whether this was his own fault (not eating properly had finally caught up to him, and there wasn't enough fat on his frame to cushion his bones) or, the mattress was simply ages old, (and direly in need of a replacement that likely wouldn't ever come) provided a momentary reprieve from actually taking stock of his interaction with King.

But, once he had, the young teen came to a depressing conclusion: King was no idiot. What had occurred? Alex purportedly broke a rule he hadn't been informed of (King insisted he had), King took his arm to lead him up the stairs, let go, and Alex fell.

Described In the most objective sense, the chain of events left King looking clean. If Alex tried to convince anyone there had been any foul play involved, he was sure to come out looking stupid.

Alex took stock of his injuries, still, a bit shaken. Nothing serious; the bruising hardly warranted the psychological stress it was causing. He also decided that the mattress and his own lack of fat were equally at fault.

Maybe, Alex briefly considered, the possibility that he was being a bit too mean to himself. But, dismissed the concept easily. The situation warranted it. Reality wasn't nice, if he planned on surviving, internal criticism was key.

The door. _The lock._

Alex pushed himself up, and went to take a look. The mattress springs left faint imprints on his palms. By that point, yelling had begun echoing from elsewhere in the house. Try as he might, Alex couldn't numb himself to the noise, even as he busied himself with the investigation.

The door was old; the lock was new. That would make picking it harder, but a quick assessment led him to conclude he would be able to without any strenuous effort. He wouldn't, though. Not unless King planned on keeping him from school. He had to be smart about this. Getting to school, on time, was the only hill he was willing to die on.

He would deal with this shit if he had to, but god help him, he was not going to take it to class, and it would not keep him from school. He would not have king screwing with his real life, and creating scenarios that made people ask questions. This would not mix with school. Alex was intent on keeping the two worlds as far removed from each other as possible. School was the future; this was just some crappy present.

* * *

One sleepless night later, the door flew open, and King presented the exhausted child before him with a grin. "I see you're ready for school."

Alex nodded, "Yeah; I'm eager to get away from you". He shouldn't have said it- the look on King's face told Alex he _should not_ have said that. But, he couldn't bring himself to regret the words. They were true.

Annoyance, and anger flicked in King's eyes, but he stepped to the side, creating a space for Alex to pass. "You can go, but try not to fall on your way out."

The contorted look on his face brought cartoons to mind, and Alex couldn't help but wonder if there were little rusty cogs, trying to crank out a thought inside King's skull. But, Alex's light hearted line of thinking soon proved to be inefficient; King stopped him just at the top of the stairs. He should have known. King wasn't about the little quip.

Alex Chastised himself: _If you were smart, you would have run down the stairs, and out the door before his brain put the pieces together._

"Oh, and Hamilton, try not to fall on the stairs. It's embarrassing for you; said she thought you were overly tired when I told her about yesterday. I think I agree. Get back here by seven. I want you to bed early. We're both concerned for your health"

Alex hurried down the steps, swallowing a snippy retort. He really, more than ever before, just wanted to get to school, and the confirmation that King had been able to sell a lie to Knox made his stomach churn.

But King, ever the showman, was unwilling to accept any possibility of going unheard. He barreled down the steps, placing entirely too much force into each footfall, "Hamilton. You heard me. Seven." He grasped the back of Alexander's sweater, pulling enough to place an uncomfortable amount of pressure on his neck.

"Yeah. Seven." Alex spat out, smart enough to hold his tongue to protect his neck. When King released his grip, Alex managed to catch enough drag from the walls to stop himself falling.

Seeing the kid sweat seemed to amuse King even more than seeing him fall. He watched Alex run out the front door with a prideful smile. In his mind, that was totally justified: payback for being disrespectful.

Alex, for his part, found himself running further than he really needed to. Only when his breathing became labored, and his chest ached, did he allow himself to collapse on a bus bench. When the physical labor ended, the mental labor began. He scolded himself: _You're pathetic Hamilton. You have to stand up to King, not run from him like a fucking baby. What's he going to do to you?_

As the morning chill hit him, Alex realized he had no idea: no way of knowing what King was willing to do.

In hindsight, the cool air was a gift. It kept the streets empty, so no one had to see a fraught Alexander spend thirty minutes collecting himself as the frigid air turned his flushed cheeks a bitten winter pink.

Eventually, Alex forced himself to move on. He didn't want to be late to class, and sooner or later the cool air would cease to feel nice. Not bringing a coat was stupid.

As he closed the gap between the school and King, he tried to force himself to detach from everything that was happening; it didn't matter, and if he let it, he would be a failure.

By the time the warm air of the modern building greeted him, Alex was numb. Emotionally, and physically.

The later issue was swiftly addressed. His ID card garnered renewed access to coffee, and naturally, Alex drank three cups of the stuff before heading to his first period.

There, Lafayette was waiting, and his exuberant, joyful demeanor quickly brought some feeling back to Alex's tired heart: _coffee for the sou_ l. By the time the bell rang, he'd had a high enough dose of Laf to introduce himself like nothing had gone wrong at all.

And with class underway, he and Laf got back to chatting, though the older boy insisted that it must be in French because the bell had rung. Alex couldn't blame him, French was obviously his native tongue, and he seemed to slip into a totally new state of joy especially after Alex began responding with bits of perfect-albeit mildly accented- French.

He figured this was the least he could do, considering that Laf was carrying the entire conversation.

Alex left feeling miraculously better. The next few classes went over undeservedly well, even without one of the others to back him up. His new teachers actually seemed impressed with whatever work he had produced during their respective classes.

Then, lunch really just rolled in, and he didn't have to worry about that either. Lafayette had told him where they would be sitting, which was so clearly an invitation that Alex couldn't come up with a warped scenario where he wasn't actually wanted.

After a quick loop through the lunch line to pick up a few snack bars, two coffees, and a slice of pizza (lunch, for now, food stores for later. King had yet to provide a scrap of food, and Alex wasn't hopeful), he found his way to the table.

The group was engaged in a hushed conversation until John spotted Alex. Suddenly, they sprung into a goopy conversation about an upcoming formal just as Alexander took a seat. "What was that about?" He asked with blunt curiosity.

"We were discussing the Winter Formal. It is a dance that-" poor Lafayette was taken aback when Alex interrupted.

"No. Before that."

The table was uncomfortably silent. "Well? Have you all forgotten how to speak?"

It did bother Alex; knowing that they had been gossiping about him -and that was really, the only explanation for this. Worse, though: they refused to do it to his face.

 _Silence._

"Whatever you were saying about me, it wasn't true" He goaded, attempting to make eye contact with each of his new 'friends' who, one by one, averted their gazes.

Herc was the one to finally give in, meeting Alex's stony glare with an eye-roll; "Laf was just saying you looked like shit in the morning. He thought you were sick, or something".

Or something. He was mildly worried, if not a bit apprehensive. If he didn't tend to trust his gut, he may have decided that they didn't know Alex well enough to worry.

"Do I look sick to you?" All eyes were on Laf, who had taken to nervously drumming his fingers on the table.

"Non- but this morning you-"

"Well, I wasn't, and I didn't. I just looked tired. The coffee hadn't seeped into my bloodstream yet." He managed some kind of half-convincing smile.

To his surprise, Laf responded in French, rather than English, " _I was only worried, because I had not seen you look so tired before, and I did not hear from you all weekend."_

"Great, now I have to take French if I want to understand our lunch table," John muttered.

"I told you Spanish was useless." Herc tossed John a sly smile, before going back to his lunch.

"It is not. As a future politician, I should be able to speak the second most common language in the country. I think it should be a requirement to run for office."

Alex and Laf were having a bit of a back and forth (You shouldn't have worried/but I did/but you shouldn't), still in French, which showed no sign of stopping until Herc responded to John's statement.

"Then Alex is out of luck, and so is 90% of your debate club"

Suddenly, Alex slipped out of his French argument with Laf and addressed Herc in Spanish. "I would be perfectly fine, actually. My mother spoke to me in English, and Spanish when I was a baby"

Hercules froze with an amused smile on his face; "of course you do". However, John's reaction was overpowering. He popped out of his seat, grinning at Laf, "Ha! If you want to talk to Alex in French, I'll talk to him in Spanish."

Laf broke out into giggles. The interaction was loud, but not enough to stick out in the bustling cafeteria. "You may if you wish, but I was under the impression that you did not enjoy to speak Spanish."

Alex eagerly hopped into the new conversation. They were miles away from Laf accusing him of acting ill, and he preferred to keep it that way. He addressed John in Spanish; " _Don't you want to practice your Spanish by having everyday conversations? Wouldn't that be fun?"_

John slumped into his chair, "Fine. I surrender. I'll only speak Spanish with Alex when I specifically want to piss Laf off." He muttered. "How do we switch you back to English?"

"Wow. It doesn't take much to break you, does it?" Alex grinned.

"I just had a Spanish test. It's a beautiful language, but right now, I would prefer if I never had to hear it again." John explained Sheepishly.

"So much for your budding political career" Herc couldn't resist a chance to tease John, and even Laf had to join in.

They carried on until John seemed to grow bored of the light-hearted taunts, and took it upon himself to change the subject.

"So, Alex. What did you do this weekend? We need to add you to our group chat."

Sounds of agreement came from Herc and Laf, but Alex didn't seem too keen on the idea. "I don't have an unlimited texting plan".

He didn't have a plan at all. What he had was a pay-as-you-go phone from five years ago with less than 500 messages left, and no money to buy another card. "You guys probably text too much for me."

All of them were wondering how Alex could be living in the twenty-first century and not have iMessage, but they all had the forethought not to ask. Or, Lafayette did, and he responded before the other two could have.

"Then you must give your number to at least one of us so we will be able to alert you to any plans" He could not bear the thought of leaving Alex out of everything.

"Yeah. Give it to Laf, we do everything at his house anyway." Herc agreed.

Alex caught John nodding concurrently, and submitted to the request. He pulled his bag into his lap and rifled through it. The conversation drifted to the upcoming AP Calc test, then to AP Lang.

An LG slide phone nudged Lafayette's hand, "Here. Just fill in your name and number."

Alex was mildly worried that he wouldn't know how to use the phone, but Laf seemed familiar, He'd been the first to get a phone, back in fifth grade, because the Washington's had wanted him to feel like they were only an SMS away at any moment. That first model hadn't lasted long, because everyone was getting iPhones by eighth grade, but the first phone in their group hadn't faded from memory.

"Hey, Laf. Didn't you have one of those when we first met you?" John asked with a fond smile. "Does it have the guitar game?".

Laf sent himself a message:

 **Hamilton**

This is yourself!

And Alex quickly took his phone and tucked it away.

Lafayette's phone buzzed, and he busied himself creating a contact for Alex. "It is possible. Let us go back to discussing 's class."

The conversation dawdled from their essays to the fact that John had gotten his Comp-sci project grade bumped to a 90%, to the upcoming math test, to the fact that Herc was apparently a math wiz, and had opted to skip straight to calc BC. This didn't mean he didn't have a math test; he just had a harder math test. Finally, they landed on debate. John had effectively dragged the conversation there, but at very least, Alex seemed to enjoy hearing about the argument he'd prepared. The discussion actually led him to tweak his speech a bit.

Then, John turned the conversation to Alex's speech. "What about you? Are you ready to face off with Thomas?"

Before Alex could ask why John had said it _that_ way, Herc whooped, "Oooh, Angelica didn't: she set Alexander on Thomas? I love that girl. You have to film it or something. This is going to be good. I can feel it."

John was indignant, "I was under the impression that you found debate boring."

Herc moved his lips wordlessly for a moment before any caught, "Well, that's because- because you're all so serious, and we all know Alex is going to destroy Thomas. It'll be a dogfight- you know it."

"Maybe Angelica stuck them together because they're both going to compete in the 9/10 bracket." John offered, though he seemed to agree more with Herc than himself.

"It isn't like we're actually debating today. Angelica just wanted drafts" Alex reminded the group, but the excited back-and-forth continued.

* * *

When the bell rang, they headed off to Necker's class, but Alex's mind was caught on the upcoming debate. Was Thomas really that good? He felt an incredible amount of pressure impress Angelica, and then to win. But, he had absolutely no reference point from which he could accurately judge his chances. He'd won every debate he'd entered in his previous schools, but this was a private school. These kids had resources; computers, tutors, good teachers, senators for parents. There was a very real chance that Thomas was better than him.

It was possible Thomas was so much better that Angelica would laugh when she saw his essay. If only he'd been working under more ideal conditions. If Angelica actually had such high expectations, he certainly didn't want to disappoint. This team was actually the only reason they'd brought him to the school. If he screwed it up, they'd probably kick him out.

Soon enough, class began. Everyone was mildly worried about the glassy look that had overtaken Alex, but once began his lesson, their friend recently unreachable friend suddenly returned to earth. The class was a bit drab; John spent half of it drawing Alex from behind; Laf doodled, Herc took some notes, and sent more than a few text messages. Alex was re-working his key arguments. It was delightfully mundane. Then, the lesson drew to a close, and Necker began passing back their in-class writes.

Alex was so obviously nervous you could have seen it from space. Herc leaned over, and told him to chill, in a hushed tone. "He said he won't grade it if you fail".

But, Alex worried that taking their teacher up on his offer would result in his removal from the class, which would be an unbearable personal failure. And, he wasn't even freed from the anguish when he got the damn thing back. 7- but what did that mean? 7 out of 9? That was a crappy grade. A C+ was a failure: true, not a literal one. Not a mathematical one. Just a moral failure.

As Alex tried to rationalize his own stupidity, the others began discussing.

"I got an 8. That's good enough for me." John's statement was punctuated with a sigh of relief, but quickly qualified, "My dad is going to be pissed that I didn't get a 9, though."

"Yeah? Well tell him to-" Herc caught a look from John, and cut himself off. "Tell him you did better than me. I got a 6. At least that's a pass."

"Apparently, the story was not a happy one," Laf muttered, scowling at his own essay.

Then, all eyes were on Alex. "What do these numbers mean?" He asked, rather than revealing his own grade.

"It's the AP scale. 9: 100%, 8: 90%, 7: 80%, 6: 70%, 5: 60%, and so on." John explained. "So, how'd you do?" he was clearly curious. All of them seemed to be.

"I got a 7." Even knowing that translated to an 80%, he was disappointed. A B- was practically a failure. Logically, it hardly made sense. John had only done one point better, and Herc had actually done one worse. Hell, Alex didn't even know where that put him in relation to the class. But it still stung.

"According to the average was a 5" Laf pointed out, "So we are all above average"

That hardly helped, and it certainly didn't make Alex feel any more confident about his draft. Between class bells, he hastily added a few notes in the margins about changes he wanted to make. Hopefully, Angelica would excuse the tardiness of the edits. If she wasn't able to adapt, they would have trouble working together. Even when facing inept rivals, he made last instant changes. Once John got Alex to say he was finished, John took both their papers, and dropped them at Angelica's desk. He didn't give Alex a second to decide he needed to make just one more change.

Quickly, Alex's brain snapped back to the in-class write. He finally sucked up the nerve to actually look it over, but upon turning to the first page, he was greeted with so much red pen, that he practically froze up. He'd never actually received criticism. Of course, he knew that overworked public school teachers deciding not to mark up his work didn't mean it was perfect. He'd always known it probably sucked, but the reality was harder to confront than he could have imagined.

Luckily, John returned and quickly tuned into Alex's abnormal body language. "...Is everything okay?"

Alex nodded, he blinked. He was still looking at the page but kept his eyes purposefully out of focus. "I'm just reading the comments."

"Necker left you comments? Like real ones?" John peeked, and his shock was evident. "He only ever leaves like two words on mine. It's probably just because you're new though."

John wasn't a novice at dealing with his friends' anxiety, but he often caught himself acting like it. "Do you want me to read it for you? It's probably not bad. You did well, I mean, compared to the rest of the class."

Alex nodded and shoved the rather thick packet of cheap lined paper at John.

Once he got over the shock of just how much Alex had written (each page was front and back), it took approximately 5 seconds to figure out what pretty much every comment said. "Dude, you crossed out so much stuff. All Necker says is that you shouldn't cross things out. He said you didn't finish your argument, but if you'd left some of this stuff in, he could have given you a nine."

"That's all?" Alex had been tearing apart his cheek. When John passed him the assignment back, his arm was shaking.

"Yeah. Everything he wrote is just nice stuff about the things you crossed out. You wrote like three essays. These are just rough drafts"

"All I wrote was a rough draft" Alex muttered. Somehow, his anxiety level didn't drop when he actually read the notes. It just made him feel like more of an idiot.

"But, like. I mean, did you though?" John asked- "Is sixteen pages in tiny script really a rough draft?"

The look that question earned John made him shut up for a bit. Clearly, he wasn't helping.

"If it sucks, I'm not leaving it in," Alex said sharply.

"Just because you think it's bad, doesn't mean it is. The College Board doesn't have incredibly high standards. Just write your first rough draft. Try not to cross anything out. I don't know. It seems like Necker liked everything you wrote."

Alex was silent.

Before John could find another affirmation (he really was the worst person to be doing this, wasn't he? Laf or even Herc would be so much better), Alex put the essay away, logged into the computer at his desk, and opened two documents: a new one, and his essay.

He began totally rewriting it.

"You could wait for Angelica's commentary," John suggested. He worried about how Alex would take that. The girl made such a good captain because she tried to be mean in her critiques.

"I'm sure she's thinking the whole thing sucks, so anything I do will be an improvement."

Then, their conversation was interrupted. A boy with entirely too much gel in his hair, sporting a coral button up under his school crew neck, interjected.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, but this is far more important."

John leaned back and rolled his eyes. He wanted Thomas to see it. He wanted the kid to know what a prick he was.

"I'm Thomas Jefferson. I was out of town on Friday, so you didn't get to meet me, and I haven't seen you in class. I've been given the assumption you will be my in-house competition for the rest of the year."

He snaked his arm between the computers to shake hands.

"I'm Alexander Hamilton." There was a brief flash of recognition in Thomas's eyes, one that made Alex eager to push the conversation along. "I'm taking a mix of Junior and Sophomore classes, but I'm a Sophomore, so we'll be competing in the same group."

Thomas's face flickered with interest, but he wouldn't give Alex the satisfaction of knowing he was curious how he'd come to be at their school, and why he was taking so many advanced courses. " You should know that I intend to win our debate."

Alex broke their handshake. "Well, Thomas, you should know that your intentions mean nothing to me".

John's internal, "ooohhhh" might have slipped into the external realm. The look of shock on Thomas's face was priceless. If he didn't believe it would result in a lawsuit, John would have taken a picture.

Angelica had arrived mid-way through the interaction, and after a brief overview of the drafts made an announcement. "Work on whatever you want. This is going to take a while. All of you have a lot of work to do."

Sensing he was out of his element, John decided to get Alex to focus on something else, rather than attempt to deal with whatever anxiety thing was going on. "Let's study for math."

Alex didn't even look at Angelica's draft until he was sitting with the boys in Laf's family room while a Disney movie played. Martha had provided cookies because she thought Alex was too thin; she'd stayed in the room until each boy had consumed at least one. "I want to make sure my baking is appreciated." There was a loving edge to it, almost like the whole thing was a joke, but her goal was accomplished. When everyone else took a cookie, Alex played along.

John had out a laptop and had already begun fixing his work. Angelica didn't actually comment: She just brutally crossed out entire paragraphs, sentences, arguments; once she'd actually just drawn a red cross through all of the text on every one of his pages. He'd deserved it. The whole thing had been written in under an hour. Not his best work. Angelica knew it, and she didn't play around.

He eyed Alex occasionally. The other boy was psyching himself out like he was about to open a folder and find out if he was dying of cancer. But, eventually, Alex bit the bullet.

He seemed relieved, while still managing to look deeply anxious and unsettled.

Angelica had mostly agreed with Alexander's own corrections. She crossed out the paragraphs corresponding to his last-minute edits and underlined the comments. There were a few minor things that he hadn't pointed out himself. Those took a minute to digest. Alex squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to convince himself that it was all for the best, so he could grow. So he could do better, and beat Thomas, and stay in the school, but he was beginning to feel overwhelmed, and each time he moved forward, his anxiety only seemed to grow worse.

When he left that evening, the other boys were a bit worried. Even Martha was worried, and she hadn't spoken more than ten words to him. All the last minute talking, which summed to Alex insisting he was fine, only cut into the time he had to get back. Knowing he was going to arrive home late didn't make him feel calmer. And regardless, going home to King certainly wouldn't have helped his anxiety anyways. The man wasn't exactly the nurturing type and god. Alex had the self-calming skills of a baked potato.

The problem was doomed to worsen.


End file.
